


choking on guitar strings

by ghostwilbur



Series: mindless days and sleepless nights [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DADZA OFFICIAL TAG POGCHAMP, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Family Dynamics, Feral TommyInnit (Video Blogging RFP), Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insomnia, Maybe - Freeform, Missing Persons, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Projecting?, Sad Wilbur Soot, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Nothing, Toby Smith | Tubbo Deserves Better, Toby Smith | Tubbo is Not Okay, TommyInnit Swears (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, dont yell at me, hey i warned yall this was a vent fic, i love them ur honor, instead fo reaching out for help i project my feelins on a possessed 24 year old from britain, oof, we love dadza in this household
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwilbur/pseuds/ghostwilbur
Summary: wilbur soot is plagued with music, the songs leaving him unable to sleep. he doesn't plan on telling anyone how he cant sleep at night, how he stays up clutching his head and willing for it to stop. he's struggling, on the edge of losing himself.-ON HIATUS (???)-
Relationships: shaky technoblade bruh
Series: mindless days and sleepless nights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013832
Comments: 77
Kudos: 610





	1. had a late night (because i can't close my eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> hello loves :D this fi deals with some more serious aspects of mental health, so please don;t read if youre sensitive to those sorts of things !! <#

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an introduction to our characters.

“g’morning! wake up sleepy head!” tommy shouted, barging into wilbur's room and clapping his hands. “up, up up!” 

wilbur looked up from his laptop screen, groaning at the obnoxious yelling. “tommy, shut up. i have a headache,”

“grumpy bitch,” tommy complained, letting his hands drop to his sides and walking out to go annoy someone else.

wilbur sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. it wasn't tommy's fault. wilbur probably had a headache from staring at his laptop screen, rewriting and erasing words all night. he was working on a song, and even though it was stupid to work on one this much (as he wasnt going to ever let anyone hear it anyway) but he just couldnt stop-- the new music would fill his head, the mistakes popping up when he tried to sleep. it was constant in his ears when he closed his eyes. he couldn't bear to listen to a song constantly, especially not one chockablock full of mistakes. even closing his eyes slightly now, it was starting to fill his ears.

it had been like this for weeks. wilbur nodded off almost everywhere if he stood somewhere still for too long. he would zone out, the music filling his head until he was choking on chords and guitar strings.

“wilbur, you up? c’mon, lazy bones!” tommy was back, and wilbur got up, joints cracking. “yeah, yeah. give me a sec,” he sat on the edge of his bed for a second, letting his body actually wake up before standing up. his world tilted for a second before it was normal, as wilbur had gotten up far too fast. 

“you're going to miss breakfast!” tommy called as he left, and the delicious smell of bacon and egg finally hit wilbur's senses. “leave some for me!” he called, letting the door swing shut. he turned to the mirror on his dresser, examining his reflection.

to put it simply, wilbur looked like shit.

the dark bags under his eyes were a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin, his cheekbones sticking out. his hair was thin, and his eyes had lost their sparkle. he rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the darkness, and pinching his cheeks and trying to get some colour back into them. 

he straightened up, thinking that was good enough for now, and headed out of his room to join his family at the dinner table.

“sorry i'm a bit late. had a late night,” he said as he took a seat, helping himself to the last two eggs and bacon.

“any later and tommy would have eaten all of the bacon,” phil laughed, ruffling his youngest’s hair. 

“hey! i'm a growing boy!” tommy argued with his mouth full of toast.

“finish your mouthful before you speak.” techno said, in his usual monotone from behind a book. “it’s gross, and makes me want to throw up more than i usually do seein’ your face.”

“techno! that was mean!” tommy gasped, banging the table. “dad, tell techno not to be mean!”

“techno, be nice to your brother,”

“what? it’s called honesty, tommy should try it sometime,”

“are you saying i’m a liar?”

“well, i ain’t callin’ you a truther,”

wilbur sat back and tried to ignore the bickering, wanting to close his eyes but not wanting to face that dreaded music. he started to zone out, his vision becoming speckled with white and black dots. was that normal? 

“dad? i dont feel so good,” he murmured, trying to form another coherent sentence as his mouth stopped working all together. 

the bickering died down as wilbur stood up, hands gripping the table for support. “i dont…” 

they were staring at him. wilbur stood up straight, and his vision went white.

someone was calling his name, but wilbur was tipping over, hands reaching out for something to grip onto but missing. or, as if there was nothing there. did wilbur ever lift up his hands at all? did he try to stay upright?

wilbur’s body hit the floor.

* * *

the music was different this time. 

there was a cold washer on his forehead, a hand combing through his hair. 

someone was humming. 

his head hurt … so much ..

wilbur’s eyes wouldn't open, and he squeezed them and tried to get them to open again. nothing.

“good morning, wilbur. or should i say afternoon?” phil's voice was softer than usual.

‘m’ eyes…'' wilbur tried again, getting frustrated when they still wouldn't open. he sounded like shit. “m’ eyes won't open, dad..”

“it’s okay. keep them closed,” the hand stopped its rhythmic brushing. something clinked.

the longer wilbur kept his eyes closed, the louder the music became. he just wanted it to stop, wanted to open his eyes to get some silence. but something was preventing him from doing so, and wilbur was losing himself to the music.

the hand started kneading through his hair again, and the door creaked open. “dad, tell tommy to stop annoyin’ me,”

“i’m _not-”_

“your brother is sick, be quiet,” phil shushed them.

“since when was he sick? i thought he was just tired,” 

“have you ever collapsed from bein’ “just tired”-”

“yes, actually!”

“boys!” 

the two shut up. “well, isn't he asleep?”

“tommy, get your fingers away from his eyes right-”

something stabbed wilbur in the left eye, and he immediately slapped it away, sitting up and holding his face. tommy screamed in shock, stumbling backwards.

he knocked the glass of water on the bedside table off, it shattered and water splashing everywhere. wilbur had chosen that time to try and hit tommy, and stepped straight onto the glass shards with a bare foot. techno was pushed over by tommy, and the two went down like a pack of cards. 

three pained cries went out at the same time; wilbur, who stepped onto the glass. techno, who had tommy’s body knock the breath out of him. and tommy, who had techno’s elbow stabbed directly into his side.

“i told you- you guys really had to cause the most amount of chaos as possible, huh?” phil had his head in his hands, and when he looked up there were tears in his eyes from holding in his laughs. “stay here, i'll get something for your foot, wil. tommy, techno, try not to kill each other while i’m gone,” phil left, leaving tommy to pick himself off of techno and wilbur to stay crosslegged on the bed, leaving spots of blood on the mattress. 

“so.” tommy said, and the other two just stared at him, expecting him to finish his sentence.

“wh-huh?! dont look at me like that!” he said loudly, hands waving. “i dont know how to uphold a conversation!”

“how come you’ve been asleep for almost ten hours straight?” techno said coolly, ignoring tommy. “that’s practically unheard of when it comes to your sleepin’ schedule,”

“let the man breathe, techno, he collapsed at the breakfast table,” tommy scolded, techno rolled his eyes. 

“i still don't feel too good,” wilbur said quietly, and the two snapped their heads to look at him in synchrony. wilbur held up his hands. “what the fuck was that,”

“why don't you feel too good, wilbur? do you got a fever comin’ on? is it from lack of sleep? do you got a cold?” techno stared at him intently, creeping both wilbur and tommy the fuck out. “what is this, an interrogation session?”

“no, i’m just curious to what could’ve caused you to knock yourself out at the family meal time,”

“glad to see none of you are dead,” phil announced as he came back into the room with a broom, a first aid kit tucked under his arm and a new glass of water in the other hand. “wilbur, drink. and do _not_ put your bare feet down again, did you learn nothing from the last time? tommy, sweep this up while i fix up wilbur’s foot. wilbur, give me your foot,”

“aw, why can’t techno do it?” tommy complained, but taking the broom anyway and starting to sweep.

“foot, please,” wilbur uncrossed his legs and phil opened the first aid kit, getting out alcohol wipes and band-aids. 

“so, am i allowed to ask what caused this impromptu collapse this morning?” phil asked as he cleaned wilbur’s foot, much to wilbur’s complaints of ‘i’m a grown man who can clean his own foot, dad’. 

“just been tired, i guess,” wilbur shrugged, chugging the cup of water. he hadn’t realised how thirsty he was until he took a small sip before.

“how tired warrants losing consciousness?”

“tired,” wilbur shrugs. phil sighs, trying to hide the growing disappointment in his eyes. “tommy, techno, that’s enough, thank you. out you hop,”

“but-”

“no but’s, out,”

tommy huffed and left, techno following suit after. the door shut behind them. 

silence hung in the air like humid weather, the only sounds the occasional scuffling of bandages, before phil spoke again.

“have you been sleeping at night?”

wilbur hesitated before answering. “...of course,”

“that was a weird thing to pause before you said it,”

“it just surprised me, that’s all,”

“why?” phil stopped tying the bandages, letting his hands rest on knees. 

_why?_ it was such a simple question, but it made wilbur panic. “because it’s not normally you ask out of nowhere,”

“wilbut, i want you to know you can be completely honest about anything, okay? i’m your dad, you can trust me with anything,” phil ruffled wilbur’s hair as he stood up, to which wilbur complained quietly about. “get some more sleep. you still look like a zombie,” and with that, he left.


	2. burnt the eggs (and in turn the toast)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soft family dynamic to repay for the upcoming chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ! you ! reading this fic ! it would made my day if you left a comment on this :) i love you! times are stressful atm, but im here 4 you !!!!

wilbur didn't get any more sleep. it was around 4:50 am now, and he was staring up at the cracks in his roof. 

he didn't want to close his eyes.

ever since wilbur collapsed at the breakfast table, the music had been different. sadder, more numbifying. he hated it. he hated it so much more than the previous music. it made his wrists ache with ghost pains he had never felt, his head pound. everytime he heard this new music he wanted to rip his ears off.

wilbur was scared to blink, get even a millisecond of the music.

he wanted to scream, drown it out. but the walls were paper thin, and he didn't want to alert his family. they had enough problems. didn't need to add an insomniac to the list.

paper thin walls were handy sometimes, though. handy when he wanted to eavesdrop on a conversation. handy when he needed to know when to start cleaning his room otherwise he would be the next one being yelled at.

handy when he needed to go comfort a little brother after some nightmares.

wilbur’s feet tapped the floor lightly, the socks he had on muffling most sound on the wooden floor. his door swung open without a creak, and he knocked lightly on tommy’s door before opening. “hey,” 

it had become routine- sort of. this only happened about twice per month, and when it did neither of them would talk about it afterwards.

“move over,” tommy did, and wilbur slid into the bed next to him, feet hanging off the end. “wanna tell me about it?”

tommy shook his head, and wilbur didn't pry. so he rolled over, his back pressed against tommy’s, eyes just open enough to keep the music at bay.

eventually quiet snores started up, signaling to wilbur that tommy had fallen asleep. he estimated it was probably around 6 am, and as quietly as he could he got up, turning to face his little brother and pulling the covers up to his chest. “g’night,” he said quietly, and exited the room.

instead of going back to his own room he went into the kitchen, looking for things to cook for their breakfast. it was his day to cook yesterday, but as he was asleep for the majority of the day he had missed it. made sense to catch up now.

“you're up early.” phil was sitting at the table with a coffee, freshly made.

“just woke up,”

“that’s strange, because i swore i could've heard you at five am this morning bumping around tommy’s room,” phil sipped his coffee, a knowing look in his eyes. 

“must have been hearing things,”

“sure,” wilbur clattered around till he found the pan, deciding to make scrambled eggs on toast. “what’re _you_ doing up so early? hypocrite.”

“woke up early, wanted to get a few moments of peace. it didn't last long, as you can see now,” phil gestured to wilbur, who had nearly just dropped the pan. “oh, shut up.”

“what are you making?”

“scrambled eggs on toast,”

“we’re out of eggs,”

“beans on toast,”  
  


“we’re out of beans,”

“toast,”

“smart choice,”

wilbur rolled his eyes, keeping the pan on the stove in case phil was just fucking around with him (he was- there were two cartons of eggs in the fridge and tinned beans in the cupboard).

“don't burn them,”

“i know how to cook eggs, dad,” wilbur muttered.

phil stood up to come help anyway, grabbing the toaster while wilbur cracked eggs into the pan.

“we should put on the radio, get some funky jams,” 

“it’s 6 in the morning. tommy _just_ went to sleep, and i don’t think techno would be too happy about being woken up so early for some ‘funky jams’,”

“just went to sleep, huh? and, actually, it’s six thirty. good enough time for everyone to be awake, anyway,” phil ignored wilbur, and turned on the radio, cranking up the volume. the song on the radio sounded scarily familiar, but he assumed he had heard it somewhere else before.

“get ready to deal with grumpy bois inc after you wake them up at the asscrack of dawn,”

“it’s nearly an hour after dawn,”

“specifics, who needs em?”

phil laughed, shaking his head. 

the door to techno’s door swung open and there was the man himself, rubbing his eyes and looking grumpier than ever. “do ya havta have that blaring so early in the mornin’?” he grumbled, and wilbur shot an ‘i told ya so’ look at phil. 

“pray tommy doesn't wake up later so we can all have some peace and quiet,” wilbur said over the sizzling of the eggs in the frying pan.

as if he heard someone talking about him, the door to his room opened up, and out came a very sleepy tommy, a minecraft ocelot plushie hanging by his side. he yawned, eyes still half lidded. “can we turn the music down, please,” his voice was full of sleep, almost heavy sounding. 

“i think that’s the first time i’ve ever heard tommy say please,” techno said, pointing at tommy with one hand and putting the other next to his mouth in an exaggerated whisper. shuffling over to techno, tommy latched onto him, burying his head into the other’s shoulder. 

“wh- tommy, get off,” techno tried to unlatch the teen, but it was a no-go. tommy was already falling asleep. “soft.” was the muffled reply.

techno just sighed, admitting to defeat. “c’mon, tom, at least sleep on the couch or somethin’,”

“no. heart.”

“did you just no, heart me in real life?” techno said in disbelief. tommy snickered softly. 

“don't sleep on me, sleep on a comfortable surface,” techno tried to start walking over to the couch to deposit tommy, but he dug his heels into the floor and refused to move. 

“but it’s so cold,” tommy whined, and techno rolled his eyes. “deal with it,”

“techno, you're so cruel,” wilbur laughed. “let him be warm if he wants,”

“wilbur, do you have a heavy 16 year old clingin’ to you? unless you do, you don't get an opinion on what i should do with him,”

“fair poin- my eggs!” wilbur hurriedly flipped them, the stench of burnt filling the kitchen.

“what was it you said before? oh, i know how to cook eggs?”

“dad, not the time!” the eggs had caught on fire, smoke coming up in waves suddenly. techno was in hysterics, phil was trying to put it out sensibly, and tommy was…asleep.

after getting the pan in the stove under cold water, phil was trying not to laugh, wilbur was standing there in shock and humiliation, and techno had to place tommy in a seat at the table while he held his stomach, bent over and losing his mind. 

tommy was still asleep, surprisingly, after all the racket they were all making.

“at least we still have the toast?” wilbur said hopefully.

the toaster popped out, burnt to smithereens. 

phil lost his shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dadza minecraft


	3. just needed to stay conscious (just needed...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hehe plot time :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw fror panic attacks, stay safe <3

“can i have that?” tommy pointed to a bright coloured packet.

“no,” wilbur picked up a carton of milk, and put in the trolley.

“can i have that?”

“no,”

“can i have this?” without waiting, tommy chucked it in the trolley.

wilbur didn’t bother to argue.

phil was at work, and techno was at an after-school club, which meant wilbur was on tommy pick up duty and shopping duty. he should’ve made tommy catch the bus home, but he had picked him up. unfortunately.

now their trolley was full of things they didn’t need. bottles of soda, popcorn, chip packets. the things they actually needed were swamped by things they didn’t.

they moved into the fresh food aisle, finally giving wilbur a break of things being thrown in the trolley. “why do we have to get vegetables? they suck,”

“because phil is going to make creamy pasta for dinner and he asked me to get some,” wilbur looked at the message phil had sent beforehand. “is he gonna put mushrooms in it?”

tommy walked alongside him, looking in disgust at the vegetables and recoiling from the water spraying on him. wilbur laughed at that. “yep,”

“gross! tell him not to!” tommy whined, shaking his head and hanging off wilbur’s shirt.

“anyone ever tell you that you're annoying as shit?” wilbur shoved him off.

“yes, and i am extremely proud of that,”

wilbur picked up two packets of mushrooms, just to spite the teen.

“for every mushroom in that packet i get to punch you tonight,”

“okay, have fun sleeping by yourself after your next nightmare,”

“wilbur!” tommy exclaimed, looking around like techno was just around the corner, ready to make fun of him. “i told you not to talk about that!”

“no one is around to hear it, c’mon,”

“that’s not the point, just shut up about it. okay?”

“okay, okay. sorry,"

wilbur put a few more things they needed before starting to make his way to the self checkout, having to drag tommy away from the sweets aisle. it was dangerously close.

“tommy, stop putting things in the trolley before i put you in there,” wilbur warned, and tommy threw another thing in. “try me, bitch,”

wilbur picked out a jumbo pack of muesli bars. “what the hell is this- this is like twenty dollars!”

“we were short on muesli bars!” tommy argued, reaching out to grab them out of wilbur’s hands, who quickly took them out of his reach. “no, we don’t need these,” he put them back on the shelf, and tommy started complaining. “tommy, shut up.”

“i just wanted to have a movie night! we’ve all been so apart recently,” tommy tried to make excuses, and wilbur shook his head, going through the trolley.

“and you need muesli bars for a movie night, huh? and halloween décor? and two four litres bottles of soda? we’re a family of four, not a whole army,”

“i just want to be prepared,” tommy pouted, and wilbur took some more stuff out of the trolley to leave on the shelf. “if you wanted a movie night, you could've just asked. we could have actually bought things we needed and separated them properly, so we wouldn't end up with four packets of chips but only one mini packet of popcorn kernels,”  
“that’s a good point. i'll go get more popcorn and swap out the chips,” tommy grabbed three of the packets and ran off somewhere. wilbur watched him go. “that kid is gonna be the death of me,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. he could feel a headache growing.

it was getting worse everyday. he just wanted to be able to sleep, to feel okay again. his eyes fluttered, and he tried so hard to keep them open. he could see the white and red school uniform speeding towards him, and he had to stay conscious so he didn't worry tommy. he just needed to stay conscious. just needed to …

____

“wilbur, wake up,” something was shaking his left shoulder. the ground was very cold and hard. there were multiple people around him conversing, and he didn't like the sound of it.

opening his eyes, wilbur looked up at tommy, who looked more worried than he had ever seen him, and a tiny crowd of shoppers. he was pretty sure one woman was on the phone to an ambulance.

“what…?” he asked, and one of the people crowding around him stood up straight and started shooing the others away.

“dude, what the fuck was that?! you just collapsed, again!” tommy said angrily, and although wilbur knew it was just tommy’s way of showing he was concerned, it still hurt him to think tommy was angry at him for something he couldn't control. “at least dad was there that time, but we’re in the middle of a fucking woolworths!”

someone leant over, putting a hand on tommy’s shoulder. “is your dad okay now, sweetie?” she asked sweetly, and tommy shrugged her off while making gagging noises. “god help me if he was my dad, i think i would have died by fucken vegetable overdose or some shit by now,”

the woman looked rather taken aback; probably from tommy’s choice of colourful words. “o-oh,” she left, and tommy looked back at wilbur. “get up. dad is picking us up, he’s on his way. but we’re also going to pay for the groceries first. well, i mean, you're going to. apparently he’s bringing a blanket and shit so you can sleep in the backseat. he said something about in-dom-nee-ac on the phone. cutting out, ya know? anyway, this probably means i can have the front seat for once, so i don't really care.”

“can you slow down? i can hardly understand what you're saying,” wilbur heard a few key words in the middle of tommy’s rambling; dad, sleep, groceries. was indomniac a word?

“dad...is….picking...us….up….and….i...get...shotgun,” tommy spaced out his words. wilbur sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it collided with the tiled floor. tommy stood up straight, crossing his arms and looking at wilbur, who stood up. his world spun, and he had to grip onto tommy’s shoulder to stay upright. “hngh..” bowing his head, he closed his eyes.

he regretted it immediately, the music starting up like a bass box in his head. it was so loud… it was too fucking loud. someone said his name, probably tommy, but his hands were clamping over his ears and his eyes were shooting open.

it didn't stop. why didn't it stop? his nails pressed into the side of his head, hard enough to draw blood. “wilbur, whats happening?” tommy was holding onto his arms, keeping him upright. “wilbur?”

his head was pounding than ever, and he wanted to tear his ears off. his nails pierced through the skin on the side of his head, and blood dripped into his hairline and down the top of cheekbones. he didn't care he was still in the middle of a shopping center, looking like an absolute moron. all he cared about was getting this goddamn fucking music out of his head.

the world stopped, but the music didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> philza minecraft
> 
> consider leaving a comment! they make my day :]


	4. beaches are better than bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this took so long to get out
> 
> tw for // suicide ment, thoughts of suicide

wilbur wasn’t alright.

he knew that, just in generally though. but he didn’t know how he got here, or why it was the middle of the night, or why he could hear waves crashing below him.

he didn't remember much from today. everything seemed to blur, from collapsing, to the awkward car ride home, to lying in bed and pretending to sleep whenever phil came in. 

it was on loop. the music, that was. wilbur could deal with it when it was just sleep. he was dealing with it. he was doing fine with only sleeping three hours per week. (he wasn’t, but he refused to admit that).

but now it just wouldn't stop. it looped in his ears, making him nauseous. wilbur just wanted it to stop. he wanted everything to stop.

worrying his family. feeling exhausted and sick all of the time. not having energy to do anything he enjoyed. he dragged himself out of bed every day to do things for his family, not caring about himself. 

wilbur stared at the railing he was leaning his arms on, not caring how the sharp pieces of metal that stick out poked into his skin and drew blood. it was kind of nice, honestly. he barely felt the pain. the railing wasn't very big, barely an inch off the concrete wall. it didn't do shit. 

the moon was full, making the waves harsher than ever. the tide was high, slamming against the brick wall below. the smell of sea salt attacked his sense of smell, and wilbur smiled. he missed going for swims, but he had to wait till it was summer again. the wind bit into his cheeks, making him shrink in a little. his fingers were numb. rain pattered softly on his head, and wilbur wondered if it would storm. as if on cue, a clap of thunder echoed across the sky.

the rain picked up, and for a brief second, it drowned out the music. it gave him so much bliss. the rain, the wind, it was louder. and wilbur reveled in it. 

he wondered if the waves below him would cut out the music. if he floated in them, the thunder and the slap of waves against rock would make it cease. he thought about how harsh the water fought against the stone, the bridge and waves crashing together hard enough to send sea water spraying into his face from a good couple of miles away. he wondered if he jumped, how long it would take him to hit the water. how much he would be thrown around in the tides like a rag doll before being thrown against the wall. if his skull would crack, or if he would survive the first blow only to be hit by an agonizing second. 

wilbur climbed onto the wall, teetering dangerously. he held his arms out to his sides, balancing himself. the adrenaline coursed through his vines, and wilbur was thrilled to find the fear was louder than the music. 

one gush of wind. a bad step. a puddle. the possibilities were endless on what would send wilbur tumbling into the dark ocean below him, and he laughed out loud, his voice being stolen by the wind the second it left his chapped lips. he was so cold. so fucking cold. 

wilbur wondered how long it would take them to find his body. if they ever did. would his family forever be in mystery as to where he was? would they ever accept their family was dead, or would they feverishly hope he would come back alive and undamaged?

wilbur was already far too damaged for that option to be possible. 

wilbur took a step dangerously close to the edge when his phone buzzed in his pocket. he fished it out, not caring how the screen was quickly soaked by water droplets. 

_(5) new messages_

_from: child_

_wilbur where r you ???? 2:53 am_

_wilbut this isnt funny 2:54 am_

_wilbue u better not be doing anything stupid 2:54 am_

_dad is worred. pick up ur phone 2:58 am_

_(2) missed calls from: child_

_wilbur where the fuck are you 3:01 am_

_(1) new message_ _  
_ _from: dadza_

_let me know where you are, please? 3:04 am_

wilbur laughed giddily, gripping his phone tightly. he forgot he had tommy muted. he debated texting them back or not, before he slipped off the bride, landing onto the concrete and sitting with his back against the wall. he dialed phil’s number.

“wilbur, where are you?” phil picked up immediately, and wilbur suppressed a giggle. 

“out,”

_“_ out where?”

“just out,” 

“wil, i’m really worried for you. if you tell me where you are i'll stop bothering you,”

wilbur paused for a moment. “is tommy with you?”

“i have you on loud speaker, yes,”

“okay. i’m near the arcade on the beach,” 

“and you're on the beach, why?”

“don't you just know beaches are the best place to watch thunderstorms? they're even better than bridges,” 

the call was silent for a moment, before phil spoke up again, his usually calm voice laced with panic. “wilbur, are you at the bridge?”

“maybe, so what if i am?”

“wilbur, stay there. i’m coming to get you. tommy, stay here,” wilbur heard noises of complaint but phil shut them down. “don't do anything. just stay there. where abouts on the bridge are you?”

wilbur stood up, and promptly climbed onto the railing. the wind was worse up here. “what do you mean, where am i on the bridge? because i am both on the left end and the railing,” 

phil swore. “wilbur, get down.”

“the wind cuts out all the music, you know? it’s so peaceful i could finally fall asleep,”

“wilbur, please get down,”

“i want to sleep, dad,”

“i know, if you get down we can talk about it,”

“i’m so cold,” 

“i know, and i’m sorry,”

“so am i,” wilbur ended the call, and breathed in bliss. there were tears running down his cheeks now, blending in with the stinging of the rain beating against his face. when did he start crying? 

he didn't realize a car had pulled up until someone was grabbing him by the back of the shirt, pulling him off the railing and hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. there were slamming of doors, and shouting, but he was warm, and safe. “never, _ever,_ do that again, you hear me?” phil was crying, holding wilbur with no intention to let him go, even in the harsh rain. they probably could have been inside the car already. something joined from the side, burying their head in the crook of wilbur’s shoulder “fuck you,” the voice was muffled, but it was undoubtedly the voice of tommy. the rain stopped, and wilbur looked up to see technoblade holding an umbrella above the four, kneeling down to the side awkwardly and looking away. wilbur didn't blame him. 

“god, i'm such an idiot,” he mumbled, and he finally collapsed, shoulders shaking. what the hell was he doing? did he have a deathwish?

yeah. yeah, he did. 

thunder crackled, and tommy flinched. phil noticed. “alright, all of you, in the car,” none of them argued, and they all piled into the backseat. phil turned on the radio, the only thing being available at three am were shitty covers by ‘indie underground bands’ and church songs. 

the steady drive of the car and the pattering against the roof were nulling, and wilbur drifted off into a sleep full of music. good music, though. finished songs, his favourite band.

for the first time in nearly two months wilbur fell asleep naturally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayo homie this fic is coming to a slow end
> 
> please consider leaving a comment! they make my day <3


	5. not a chapter- sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> important info down below

hey yall!!

so, i know a lot of people have been reading this fic- it's been a ride!

but for now, i'm going to have to put this on hiatus.

i dont know how long for, but hopefully only a short amount of time.

my mental health hasn't been the best, and this revolves around some serious topics. ive been putting it off for a while now, only having the next chapter halfway done despite working on it for almost a month.

i also have a pretty big project coming up, and my time has been devoted to that recently.

i hope the people who are reading this fic and looking forward to the next chapter can forgive me, even though i know there aren't many of you.

happy reading, and stay safe.

-wilbur 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, sorry.


	6. just for a little while (it's been too long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wilbur finds a lost boy completely on accident. tommy has a much needed breakdown. techno ignores his disaster family in favour of hot chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // panic attacks and mention of going missing

wilbur knew this was a bad idea, but he needed it again. the rush of adrenaline, the fear, the feeling of falling asleep. 

so he was on the bridge again. 

it was barely sprinkling, the rain settling in his hair like dust on a table. he was sitting on it, his legs swinging beneath it. the water crashed against the bricks, spraying up and soaking his shoes. 

it was nice, but it wasn’t enough. 

wilbur stood up, leaning over the edge and walking along with his arms outstretched. the soft pattering turned into fat droplets, which in turn transformed into downpour. it made the bricks slippery, but that just made it more fun.

ice clinked on the ground as it started to barely hail, a few hitting wilbur on the head and causing him to pause, pulling his sweater off and holding it above his head. it left him in his t-shirt only, but it was okay. he didn't mind the cold.

the rain continued to pour, and wilbur skipped along the edge, wide enough so he wouldn't fall but getting just close enough to it that his heart skipped a beat and he held his breath. 

he loved it.

he loved the feeling of death being around the corner. one wrong move, and he was a goner. 

wilbur was stopped by someone shouting out. not his name, or anything, just a shout. he looked down, and there was a young boy, around tommy’s age, wearing a bright red backpack and staring at him fearfully. “what are you doing up there? get down, it’s not safe,” 

“that’s the point,” wilbur didn't know why he was talking to this kid, who barely reached the top of the railing. “it’s fun. you don't know when you could slip,” he leant back, and the kid cried out in alarm and reached out, keeping a strong grip on his legs. for someone so short, he sure was strong. “get down!”

wilbur decided that getting down would be more enjoyable than hearing this kid yell, so he jumped down, wrapping his jumper around his waist. “there. happy?”

“yes! thank you!”

wilbur turned around to leave, deciding to find another bridge to walk on without some child annoying him, but the tugging at his sleeve beside him stopped that from happening. he groaned. “what?”

“what were you even doing on that bridge, anyway?”

“none of your business, now leave me alone,”

“i have a feeling you're going to another bridge,”

“you guessed right, want a prize or something?”

“you know, there are probably people who love you,”

wilbur laughed, a small giggle at first before it erupted out of him, and he bent over and held his stomach. “oh my go- you thought i was going to jump, huh? that’s why you stopped me! oh my god, that’s precious,”

“what’s wrong with that? and stop laughing!”

“oh, you small, small child. what’s your name?”

“isn't it wrong to tell strangers information about yourself?”

“you're the one following me,”

the kid paused. “touche,” 

wilbur continued to walk as the boy followed next to him. they walked in silence, before wilbur spoke up. “so, name, or…?”

“oh! right, yeah. it’s tubbo,”

“what type of a name is tubbo?” wilbur asked, scoffing. tubbo looked to the side. “i think it’s a nickname. but i can’t remember my real name,”

“how do you not remember your own name?” wilbur was baffled.

“i..uh..actually don't remember a lot. i woke up on a park bench, and all i have is this backpack and this. i don’t even know who they are. this one is me, though,” tubbo held up a photo that was lined with creases, colours desaturated and faded, and pointed to what looked like a younger version of himself. there were two other people in the photo, a tall blonde boy and someone with black and white hair who was even taller, but both of their faces had been folded over so many times that the ink had chipped away, leaving white.

wilbur felt sorry for the little guy, looking down and finally getting a good look at him. his hair was scraggly and just reached his chin, framing his face and almost hiding it from view. his green button up was buttoned wrong and torn, and the red backpack was falling apart at the seams. 

he decided to do something stupid, but wilbur was the king of making stupid decisions, wasnt he?   
  


“you're coming home with me. no arguing, either. you can bunk with tommy, he has another bunk, and dad can get you fixed up and shit. and then we can find your family,” 

“tommy?”

“little brother. around your age. annoying and loud. if he gets too much you can probably just sleep on techno’s floor or the couch,”

“and it’s not a bother?”

“i’m sure dad won't mind. we’re all adopted, you see? he has a knack for taking in troubled kids and fixing ‘em up.” wilbur didn't know why he was telling his full life story to some kid he picked up on the side of the road.

“oh. okay. that’s cool, if your dad doesn't mind,”

“we’re here,”

“already? that was a five minute walk,”

“we can walk everywhere from where we live, it’s quite helpful. it only takes about twenty minutes to reach the edge of town. okay, be quiet when you're in here. i’m sure dad’s asleeeee-”

dad was, in fact, not asleep. “wilbur. what the fuck are you doing,”

“hey, dad. i have a child,”

“put him back,”

“can i explain?”

phil yawned, rubbing his eyes, and staring at the younger boy. “you sure this isn't one of tommy’s school friends? looks oddly familiar,”

“found him on the side of the road. apparently can’t remember anything except for his name,” 

“it’s tubbo,”

“bunking with tommy?”

“yep. i'm sure tommy can lend some clothes, they have similar proportions. except for the fact this guy is about three feet shorter.”

“hey, i’m not that short! everyone here is just a giant, apparently!” tubbo complained, and phil chuckled. 

“you and me both, buddo. how all my sons are taller than me i don't know. here, put your backpack and shoes by the door. i’ll go wake up tommy ,but i'm going back to bed after. wil, you want to make him a sandwich or something?”

“on it! tubbo, do you like nutella?”

the way everything clicked into place so quickly was astounding, phil didn't seem to mind wilbur had brought a random child home at three am, and tubbo was apparently about to meet the loud and annoying one. “his name is phil, by the way. i'll make you a hot chocolate, i'll have to make one for tommy anyway, because the guy is a sucker for the way i make them and will complain if i give ‘the weird boy in the kitchen one and not my favourite brother’” wilbur pitched his voice up, mocking what tubbo assumed was tommy’s voice. “fun. do you guys have a bathroom?”

“to your left,”

“thanks,” tubbo disappeared, and then a very tired tommy came down the stairs, holding the renowned ocelot plushie and grumbling complaints. “what the fuck is wrong with you, wilbur?”

“i have hot chocolate,”

“all is forgiven,”

wilbur laughed, pouring steaming milk into three mugs and handing one to tommy. “our esteemed guest is in the bathroom. do you mind if he bunks with you? might have to lend him a shirt.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“dad didn’t tell you?”

“didn’t tell me what?”

“hey, that’s my stuffie!” the voice rang out from behind tommy, who dropped his glass. it shattered on the tiles and wilbur jumped, staring at tommy. 

tommy had turned around, but judging by the way tommy was holding himself wilbur was sure he was either about to explode or “start stabbing shit”. his face was emotionless. 

wilbur was not expecting for tommy to start shaking, taking a step back. 

“did you go through my bag? where the hell did you get that?!” tubbo said angrily, taking a step towards tommy. tommy was silent, which worried the hell out of wilbur.

“t-tubbo?” tommy breathed, his voice hitching in the middle. the ocelot dropped to his feet, and tommy crumbled, hands covering his mouth. wilbur was immediately next to him, trying to work out what the fuck was happening. “tommy? tommy, are you good?”

tubbo took a small step back, the anger leaving his face. 

from what wilbur could see, it semed tommy was on the verge of tears, having trouble to breathe. “tommy, talk to me bud. what’s wrong?”

“this isn't real. this is just another nightmare,” tommy stumbled over his words, hugging himself. “it’s not real. it’s not real,”

“tommy, it’s real. take deep breaths, breathe with me. you can do it, c’mon tom,” this situation reminded wilbur when he was new to the watson house himself, scared of the entire world and himself. he hadn't been in one of those situations since he was fifteen.

“wake me up, please, wake me up,” wilbur gently wrapped his arms around tommy, pulling his head into his chest. “you're okay,” he said into the teen’s hair, and started to run his fingers through it. “you're okay, it’s okay. breathe with me, tom, c’mon,” 

it took seven minutes of complete silence for tommy to start controlling his breathing normally, the shiver subsiding. wilbur didn't let him go.

someone sat down next to wilbur and he looked to the side to see tubbo sitting down, staring at the top of tommy’s head intently. 

“tub- toby. that’s toby,” tommy murmured, and tubbo stiffened beside him. wilbur’s stomach did a backflip. 

wilbur remembered toby, the kind little boy who lived a minute away, with a heart of gold and a shine in his eyes. he was tommy’s best friend, but he had gone missing a couple of years ago. they never found him. 

“you’re completely sure? this has happened once already-“

“i know! okay, i know we’ve been over this but i’m one hundred percent sure it’s him!” 

“is- is this true, tubbo?” tubbo looked to the side, hands toying with each other. “i wouldn’t know. i’m sorry,” he said quietly, and tommy 

“can you guys keep it down? a dude get any sleep around here.” footsteps pattered down the stairs, and a pink haired teen appeared. “am i dreamin, or did i forget we had another brother?”

“techno? i thought you slept like a log,” wilbur asked, and was ignored as techno made a beeline to the mug on the table. “sweet, wilbur hot chocolate,”

“i think it’d be best if everyone could just sit down, and we can talk about this without any confusion. want to begin, tubbo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so sorry it took this long to get out !! ive had half of this chapter written since october but as many of you know, put it on hiatus for a while. i'm definitely not going back to routine uploads, but i haven't forgotten about this fic :)

**Author's Note:**

> dadza minecraft


End file.
